


Yellow Vest

by PieceofStardust



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Gen, References to the Notre Dame cathedral fire, Some meta jokes at the end because why not, Subtle references to a possible Grantaire crush on Enjolras, Violence won't be graphic but it's still there, based on a play i wrote, yellow vest protests
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-28
Updated: 2019-08-28
Packaged: 2020-09-28 15:38:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,358
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20428337
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PieceofStardust/pseuds/PieceofStardust
Summary: Tensions are rising across France as the "gilets jaunes" protests begin.  In Paris, a group of law and medical students (and a couple of their friends) are faced with the difficult decision of joining the workers protesting and risking arrest, or watching the action unfold around them and letting their strong beliefs be pushed to the side.





	Yellow Vest

**Author's Note:**

> I'm usually not a huge modern AU person, but I needed an idea for my playwriting class at college, and I basically put a handful of the Amis into the yellow vest protests. I'm adding descriptions and emotions and things like that, but the dialogue is going to be coming straight from the play, so sorry in advance if it's choppy and kind of odd. If people are interested, I can link to the websites I used for research for the play!

The white light shining in Grantaire’s eyes blinded him, obscuring the faces of his interrogators from view. He had only been sitting in the bleak, white-walled interrogation room for five minutes, but he already felt the need to shift in his chair. He slumped farther down into the chair, avoiding the white light. When Grantaire held up a hand to try and block the light, it shone through the cracks between his fingers and pierced his eyes. 

His female interrogator spoke again, snapping Grantaire back to attention.

“When did you and your friends get involved in these ‘yellow vest’ protests?”

“Look, lady, I don’t know why you’re questioning me. You arrested all my friends, and they’re much more involved in these protests than I am. I’m just along for the ride.”

Even though he couldn’t see the woman’s face, Grantaire could feel her glare at his yellow vest. He had taken it to blend in with the crowd. That didn’t mean that he was actively protesting. Five minutes into the questioning and his message still wasn’t clear. He was there for his friends, not to go against President Macron.

“Well, really I’m there for the booze and for our fearless leader. I go where he goes. He’s the one who told us to join the protests in the first place. Combeferre had gotten wind of whispers of potential protests happening and decided to let Enjolras know. He had been discussing the concerns of the higher diesel tax with the others when Combeferre came rushing in. Frankly, it was kind of ridiculous.”

Grantaire chuckled at the memory as the brightness of the blinding light lessened. 

“You’re really going to make me tell you all of the stupid details, aren’t you? I can’t believe this.”

The back room of the Café Musain was usually vacant. Except when one group took up the tables. On this particular Saturday in November, the usual debates that this group engaged in was drowned out by shouts and crashes in the streets. The noises from outside the café would not put a wrench in the discussion of the group. Any regular to the Musain would recognize the way the sunlight would bounce off the golden hair of the group’s unofficial leader, who an observer would quickly realize is the type of person who enraptures some with his presence, but all with his words.

Enjolras paced around the back room of the café, muttering to himself. He was too absorbed in his thoughts to notice Grantaire enter the room and plop nonchalantly into one of the chairs, a bottle of wine in hand. Or Éponine and Courfeyrac laughing with each other, both on the verge of uttering a sarcastic remark about Enjolras’ futile pacing.

“The higher tax rates would hold individuals accountable for the changes in gas prices. As the news spreads, more and more people are getting furious. We can hear their fury outside. The people are taking action. It forces us to ask ourselves if Macron is trying to make things worse. He isn’t acknowledging the needs of the people.”

Éponine stood up and approached Enjolras, completely ignoring the caution that the men would use in trying to break Enjolras out of his determined state. She had become friends with the boys long after they had started meeting in this back room, and she had quickly inserted herself into the group.

“That’s naturally the case. Azelma and my dad were telling me all about the possible tax hike. I guess it affects my dad’s business if it goes through.”

Enjolras’ blue eyes lit up at the tangible representation of what he had been going on about for the last hour.

“Are they going to protest?”

Éponine leaned onto Enjolras, casually balancing her elbow on his shoulder.

“My dad doesn’t want to risk getting arrested. I’ll see if I can convince Azelma to join us. She usually just goes along with whatever Dad tells her to do though.” She rolled her eyes at the mention of her family. 

“That’s her loss. We’ve got big plans, don’t we?” Courfeyrac spoke up from his spot at the table. Grantaire snorted and took a long swig from his wine bottle. 

“We don’t have big plans. All the yellow vests out there seem to have the big plans.”

Enjolras opened his mouth to respond, but a loud crash from outside the café stopped him. He nearly ran to the window as he looked to get a better look at the action. At the same time, Combeferre sped into the café, wheezing and panting. He paused, a hand on the table as he stood to catch his breath. Looking up to face the group, Combeferre took a deep breath and pushed his glasses up his nose as he straightened up.

“The workers have started marching. They’re all wearing the yellow vests. I’m not sure where they’re going, but they’re blocking several different roads across the city, and apparently across France.”

“Let’s join them,” Enjolras’ body radiated with excitement at the prospect of joining the protests.

“As long as we can find some yellow vests, then let’s do it. It’s now or never,” Courfeyrac chimed in.

“Workers aren’t going to want anything to do with a bunch of law and medical students,” Grantaire said matter-of-factly from his seat at the corner table. 

“If that’s your excuse to not get involved, you’re going to have to pick a better one. You’re not a law or medical student,” Éponine said as she stepped forward, putting an arm in front of Enjolras to keep him from retorting. She gave him a dirty look, knowing he had turned away from the window solely to respond to Grantaire.

“You’re not a student either,” Grantaire retorted.

“Exactly.” Éponine rolled her eyes. “And I want to do something about these unfair taxes. Unlike you, who would rather sit in here and drink all day. You don’t believe in anything, do you?”

From his seat, Grantaire looked from person to person, trying to ignore the fact that is gaze lingered on Enjolras for a bit longer than it probably should have. He slumped further into his chair, defeated.

“If we’re going to do this, we have to be smart about it. We can’t just rush into things.” In typical Combeferre fashion, he had to serve as the voice of reason of the group.

“I want to join this protest as much as you, but I’m worried about the crowd. How many people are out there? It might be hard to slip in without getting trampled,” Éponine added, concern slipping into her voice.

Combeferre moved over to take a closer look at the crowd of protestors through the window.

“There’s a lot of people out there, but I think we could blend in no problem if we left now.”

Enjolras nodded as he turned to face the group.

“France has always been a powder keg on the verge of an explosion. What we are seeing now has happened before, involving people just like us. This could be our chance to do something, to have an impact.”

A heavy pause settled over the group.

“Little preachy there, my friend,” Éponine said, breaking the silence.

“Enjolras is right. We may not get a chance like this again,” Courfeyrac said, a grin starting to form on his face.

“It’s settled then,” Combeferre confirmed. “But where are we going to get ourselves some of these yellow vests? The workers will have to know that we’re on their side.”

Every single person in the room turned to look at Éponine expectantly. Courfeyrac smiled at her with barely restrained joy. Éponine sighed and rolled her eyes.

“Sure, just because I always seem to know the right person in Paris, you think I’m going to know someone who can get us the vests?”

“Well can’t you?” Courfeyrac asked desperately.

“Yeah, I know a guy.”

Enjolras and Éponine exchanged a solemn look. A sort of electricity filled the air. What the group had been meeting about, debating, and examining for months was finally going to come to fruition. But none of them knew where it would lead them.


End file.
